


Unfriendly Wastes

by Wandering_Vagabond



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Eventual Romance, I Don't Even Know, Multi, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Vagabond/pseuds/Wandering_Vagabond
Summary: You can only be neutral for so long, people have a way of making you choose sides. For our courier Jaz, his destiny is much larger and more ambitious than he even knows. One thing's for sure, war, war never changes.Can he recover the lost memories of his past, will he find love, or will he be killed like so many of the lives the Mojave has taken?





	Unfriendly Wastes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fiction, criticism is welcomed (within reason). These are the adventures of my male courier Jasper (Jaz) and his struggles in the Mojave desert. There will be more relationships. I'm mostly testing this out to see if anyone is interested. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Jasper by no means was a normal courier, he had been to hell and back and he had the body and scars to prove it. He rubbed his cheek tiredly and let out a huge intense yawn that made his eyes water. He bit his lip anxiously and looked down at his worn Pipboy that was strapped to his right arm. He pulled down his left sleeve a little further and with an effort tried to clean the screen off. The goddamn dust in this hellhole got everywhere. It wasn’t that he hated the Mojave, he just hated the sand and hotness that came with it, hell, he didn’t mind if there was a nuclear fallout.

Seeing that his rubbing got him nowhere he let out a grunt of annoyance and pulled out a flask from his bag and unscrewed the top. The lukewarm water made him grimace in annoyance, the damn desert truly ruins everything, pure cold water sounded so appealing at the moment. He ran his gloved fingers through his untamed black hair that stood awkwardly in multiple directions. His green eyes scanned the desert for movement, seeing nothing he just shrugged and swung his thermal lance over his shoulder and began walking. The crunching noise from the dusty ground against his boots was a familiar comfort, at least he had himself in this desolate wasteland.

Shot and left for dead was definitely not on his list of things to do, this courier had plans and to much work to get done. Besides, there's really no rest for the wicked. Little did he know, this platinum chip job was way more than he had bargained for and he was in too deep. Losing the chip and getting shot in the head just made things more difficult. Now he just wanted some revenge and fuck up Benny's life, hopefully, he chokes on his drink and dies before Jaz gets to him. There's going to be hell to pay, and Jaz was just along for the ride.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck do you mean this is worth 50 caps?!” He unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair and scowled angrily at the burly man in front of him with a stupid ass looking beard. “I literally risked my ass out there and got rid of that raider pack, if I didn’t do it then your daughter would have been killed or worse.” His green eyes met the older man’s dull grey ones, mentally he was torturing this old fart slowly. Did this man not know that being a cheapskate that, the wastes of Nevada were a cruel and unforgiving place for those who had little to no caps. “Well, perhaps I could be persuaded to raise the reward. Before that, tell me your name youngster.” Jasper raised an eyebrow and snorted with disdain. “Jasper just call me Jaz. There's really no point in calling me my full name. Besides, I like keeping things short and sweet."

 _I don't think this man will last a week more. The defense here is terrible and the food and water supplies look pretty low. If I stay, then I could probably help out until they get back on their feet._ The older man raised an eyebrow at Jaz and chuckled. "Did you even hear what I said-"Jaz blinked and snapped out of his daze. "Not one bit." "-I was saying that I appreciate your help. My family and I don't have much to offer in the way of caps and shelter. It's also dark outside, would you like to use our spare bedroom?" Jaz gave a brief glance over at the almost completely boarded up window, seeing the darkness and hearing the wind just really didn't seem appealing at the moment. "If you don't mind sir, oh, and keep the caps. I'll go cook up some stew. I'm not the best cook, but I can make a mean meat stew." The older man’s eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically, Jaz could almost see the longing and desire in his eyes. He stepped further into the house, to where he heard the faint crackles of fire and followed it into a room that appeared to be the kitchen. He removed his gloves and cracked his fingers, grinning slightly at the loud crack that his fingers made. He placed his bag onto the ground and pulled out some coyote tobacco, corn, dirty water, barrel cactus fruits, potatoes, and some brahmin meat from his old weathered sack. He took one of his dull knives and began cutting things up and placing the neatly cut ingredients into a large steel cooking pot, faintly humming a tune while he worked.

Being a courier means there is no one home, your home needs to fit on your back. No place was fully safe, but he did have a couple of 'safe' houses located in the Mojave. After much persuasion, he managed to talk Trudy and the others into giving him one of the small houses of Goodsprings that no one lived in. It was either that or take refuge in the old school house, that place was falling apart and smelled like rotting wood and nasty ass bug guts. Waking up in the good old doctor’s house was a very unpleasant surprise and if he remembered correctly he had given Doc Mitchell a large shiner under his left eye out of fear when he first woke up. The last thing he remembered was the smell of cigarettes, booze, dirt and the sour smell of gunpowder. The feeling of the cold dirt, steel pressed against his temple and the painfully tight ropes, that cut into his wrists; and the loud **_bang_** of that 9mm gun that _Mr. Fancy_ carried with him.

He shuddered slightly at the thought and called out to the older gentleman and his daughter. “Dinner is served. Hopefully, it doesn’t taste like molerat shit.” He gratefully took a wooden bowl from the timid girl. He served all three of them and sat down at the table, the chair creaking under his weight. “I mentioned this earlier, but you were sort of in a daze. My name is Anthony, my daughter’s name a Samantha.” The older gentleman said, clearing his throat to get Jaz’s attention. “Oh, um. Nice to meet you, Samantha, you too Anthony.” He mumbled as had a spoon in his mouth, already digging in. Samantha lowered her head and in a faint voice, she spoke. “Thank you, sir, thanks for saving me. Please call me Sammy, pa and I are grateful that you saved me…. The things that they threatened…” Her gaze lowered to the wooden bowl as she tore her eyes away from him. “Nah, don’t mention it, Sammy. I wouldn’t have let that happen, paid or not. The only good raider is a dead one. You two seem like you’re struggling if you’d like I could stay here for a bit and teach you how to live off of the land. I’m a tribal, we’re pretty good at surviving and shit.” Sammy let out a small chuckle and glanced at her father and nodded, Anthony thought about it for a quick second and nodded. “I would be a fool to reject help from the man that saved my family. I will gladly accept your help, make yourself at home, this place is just as much of yours as it is ours.” Jaz nodded slowly and finished his bowl, the stew he had made was a little bit spicy, and just a little bit saltier. Seeing how thin Sammy was, he figured they could use all the help that they could. “Let me clean up the dishes and find somewhere to put the rest of it.”

Hours later he laid in an old wooden bed with a dusty old blanket that seemed to ancient it must have been from the great-war, either that or Anthony has really shitty taste in décor and whatever the fuck else. His eyes closed heavily and within a few minutes of holding his knife to his chest, did he fall asleep. Tomorrow was another day, who knows what’ll happen.


End file.
